


Taming Birds

by SarcasmFish (Alcyonidae)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:17:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9566732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcyonidae/pseuds/SarcasmFish





	

Cullen emerged from his tent, muscles sore and barking their protests.  Another night of sweat and panic had swept his energy, his mood, and his health from his grasp.  He stood in the purple twilight of morning, rubbing his tired eyes to chase away the sleep that whispered so sweet in his ears.  He knew better than to fall for that saccharine song.  It would only hold more torment and terror.  It was better to begin his day and find things to occupy his mind than lie in that tiny cot and contemplate.  He reached back into the tent and grabbed the hunk of bread left beside the meal he had poked at last night.  

Even his toes felt tired and cramped as he journeyed away from the little collection of tents outside the city walls.  The sun was just beginning to peek its way through the weak canopy of the winter battered trees.  Its newly woken rays warmed his chilled flesh, but he wished it could penetrate deeper to where he felt his bones were made of ice, ice that chipped away at his joints and made him feel years beyond his true age.

Only steps away from the camp he stopped, pausing to bask a moment in the growing beams of sunlight that struggled over the horizon.  Despite the warmth, his breath puffed into the air and crystalized into little clouds. 

He tore off bits of the bread and cast it in a wide net around himself.  Within minutes a party of little birds danced around him, hopping and flapping after the crumbs he tossed out.  He found himself smiling at their peaceful company.  They wanted only this small morsel of food and nothing more from him.  In fact, if he moved too quickly or tried to approach them they would wing away, only to return moments later.  He savored the simplicity.

The birds reminded him of childhood.  They reminded him of Ferelden.  And not in that painful stabbing way that remembering his family and his voluntary absence from them caused.  These small creatures reminded him of expansive forests, of skinned knees, and of fanciful adventures.  Their subtle song brought back warm evening nights and early mornings.  He sighed and felt some of the tension from the previous night ebb away.

But eyes were on him.  The hair on the back of his neck rose.  He froze for a moment.  If he jerked his head to try and locate the person watching him the birds would fly away, alerting the stranger.  Instead, he maintained that composed, careful observation of his avian company, chancing a casual glance that spoke only of a man enjoying the outdoors on a brisk early morning.

He saw her standing by the open gate of the wall, pressed against the stone as if it might conceal her.  The Herald of Andraste.  She was a picture of winter.  Her brown hair matched the dying leaves still clinging to the last remnants of fall.  It was cut short, just brushing her shoulders.  He wondered if she preferred it that length or if it had been cut for practicality.  He skipped his thoughts over the question of whether or not it might have been cut in the Circle as punishment.

She was still pale from her life in a tower with no windows, her skin ivory and frosted like the snow collecting around them.  When she ventured into the hinterlands and beyond would her skin take on the color of the sun?  He found himself curious as to how it would change her, how it would reflect in her hair and eyes. 

For a noble she was plain.  Even Josephine had noted it, as if blood and money were the ingredients for beauty.  Maybe captivity had drained it from her, forced her to learn to blend in.  Perhaps taken from the elements and awe of the outside world it had bled from her like a slow leak in a well.  But her eyes stood out.  They were blue, lyrium blue, and it sometimes struck him like a blow to look her in the eyes.  It reminded him of desires and failures, of oceans and skys.

There were flickers of fear when those eyes were aimed at him.  It made his bones ache, and not from withdrawal.  But he had begun to see sparks in them.  Small sparks of wit, of force, of duty, of curiosity.  It was the curiosity that drew him in the most.  It was a hungry, desperate curiosity.

Only days ago she had overwhelmed some of her fear of him and asked about his life.  The smallest piece of information from him spurred more and more questions.  And for once, he found himself happy to answer.  Not even the mounting paperwork or practicing soldiers weighed on his mind as he fed her answers.  She had asked him about Templars, his history, and his current role.  She had even asked him such mundane topics as his childhood.  When she learned of his farming background she returned the next day with a book full of little slips of paper marking pages and asked him about nearly every plant and animal in Ferelden.  Did they have one on the farm?  What did the things they had grown taste like?  Had he seen this creature?  What did this bird sound like?  Would she see this one in the Hinterlands?  What did this flower smell like?  Would this one be in season long enough to pick?

The brightness in her eyes chased away the timid creature she often became when in his presence.  He found himself enjoying her questions and even looking forward to when she would approach him with more.

It was far too early in the morning and he had not expected to see her up, let alone see her watching him with an eager interest that lit her eyes in a way he was surprised to admit he savored.  He gave her a small wave of acknowledgement, half hoping and half dreading that she would approach him.  He hoped, because he was intrigued by the Mage and desperate to be useful to her.  He dreaded, because he could not seem able to speak to her without eventually causing her to flee, as she did now.  She disappeared at once, pulling herself back inside the walls of the village.  He had not been able to discern her expression.

The next morning he found himself in much the same sad state.  With no leftovers to share with his aerial friends he drifted past the gates at a wandering walk, hands resting over the pommel of his sword.  The movement warmed his muscles.  The sun was still only beginning its slow wake and would not provide him with its warm for at least another half hour.

Rounding one of the cozy cottages he pulled himself back, half hidden by the corner.  The Herald stood in the courtyard before him, an entire loaf of bread tucked under one arm.  How had she obtained a whole loaf of bread?  The cooks would be incensed if they found out, Chosen of Andraste or not.

An extensive gathering of birds flocked around her, various colors and sizes all vying for her attention.  He watched her pick off crumbs of bread and toss it to the waiting crowd.  There was such a delighted, happy smile on her lips.  He stilled.  Her unguarded expression drove some sort of pang into his heart.  It was a strange feeling.  He was used to the tightness of regret and terror, but not this instinctual and fluttering sense of right.  The private smile was so foreign to her, so full of wonder and so full of joy.  Her time in Haven had been frightening and overwhelming.  He had seen countless expressions of fear, panic, and sorrow.  But here might be the real Herald of Andraste.  No.  Not Herald, not Chosen, not Enchanter, not Lady Trevelyan.  Here was Talia.

He thought of approaching her, of engaging her in questions of his own, of telling her the best spots and times the birds liked to gather.  But frightening even one of those creatures away from her right now seemed like a truly villainous thing to do.  Instead, he watched for a few more minutes, watched her spin in delight at the birds ringing her, watched her keen eyes take in the differences of her following, and listened to her speak to them as if they were pushy children.

After a few moments he slipped away to greet his waking soldiers.

Later, when the cooks began to grumble about one less bundle of bread for breakfast he promised the head chef to extend the watch further into Haven.  When Dorian questioned the Herald about her excessive yawning during their daily discussions over one of his priceless books, Cullen snapped at the Tevinter mage to not question her duties.  And when the Herald sought him out in the growing twilight later that evening he let slip how he had noticed a family of nugs making burrows along the northern shores of the frozen lake outside Haven.

The way her eyes grew big and round made him chuckle.  He made it a point to take note of the surrounding plant and animal life on each practice foray around the fields of Haven from then on.


End file.
